


the boy in the tree

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, M/M, author didnt spellcheck, correct tense??? haha who's she
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 14:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: i was looking through my computer and found this thing which i was gonna originally use for a childhood au. it kinda works as a oneshot though?anyway, 1833 words of childhood johnlock (that i wrote like a year ago oops)





	the boy in the tree

It had started when John was bored one night. Tossing and turning, unable to get to sleep, he had been forced to lie awake and listen to the way his parents spat at each other when they thought he and Harry weren’t around. The boy had promised himself that he would stay in bed to rest up for his first day of school that morning, but the vile insults that poured out of his parents’ mouths unendingly soon turned physical, and hearing the way the seemingly happy couple held their whimpers to themselves as they continuously delivered blows to each other was too much for the young boy to bear. He tiptoed out of his bedroom and down the stairs, sure that even if his parents heard him, they wouldn’t be very bothered.

He opened the door and gulped down the cold, fresh morning air. It was his favourite time to leave the house; the atmosphere created by the foggy weather and the sun slowly but surely rising allowed him to focus entirely on his thoughts. Passing the garage, he saw Harry, his sister, pressed up against the steel, drowning out her sobs with the bitter taste of beer. John gave a sigh and began walking past. Normally he would comfort her, but for now, he just wanted to be alone.  
The boy trekked along the road and wandered his way up a hill to the nearby forest, trying to set his mind into place. His parents were mental, his sister was an alcoholic, he had moved to a new school where he wouldn’t know anybody and he needed to find some way to manage despite it. These walks were ever frequent back at his old home and, if he carried on in this way, his sleep deprivation would surely catch up on him. He had gotten straight As in school thus far and had passed every test with flying colours, but even then he would have to wait for a while, even if he could get the degrees he wanted. And then there was Harry: how was John supposed to help her? He may have had money, but not enough to fund a household and ensure his sister didn’t drink herself to death. 

Tired and lonely, he collapsed in front of a tree. That’s enough thinking for one night.

“What’s her name?”

The short haired boy jumped at hearing the unfamiliar voice. He scoured the surroundings, searching for the person who asked until he heard it again. “Answer me.”

He looked up to the source of the voice. On one of the highest branches of the tree he was under sat a young boy who couldn’t be much older than him. The boy jumped down, bending his legs and getting into some sort of break fall while his black coat trailed behind him. John looked at the boy, obviously scared and, if he were honest, a little impressed. He cleared his throat. “Who’s name?”

The boy rolled his dark green eyes as if it were obvious. “Your sister.”

“Oh, Harrie-“ John paused and suspiciously eyed the stranger. “Wait, how the hell do you know that I have a sister?”

The boy sighed deeply and looked to the ground, speaking. “You have a bruise on your wrist similar to that of abuse, however it’s off centred. It’s difficult to miss breaking the bone with that power and if it was abuse the abuser would have probably tried again, so we can conclude that it was an accident and that the real blow was centred somewhere else.”

He gulped before continuing. “The force was strong enough to leave a bone bruise that looks like it’s been there for around a month and a half, and there is nothing since then, meaning that what you tried to do was so horrible that you didn’t want to try again. You look very sleep deprived, which is ordinary considering you’ve only been leaving your house or whatever you had previously lived in at night for a month and a half to deal with whatever domestic fights you’ve tried to stop.” 

John stared at him, unsure of what to say as he carried on.

“It would be easy for you to leave. You have plenty of money and you pass every class with ease. Even heading to some kind of orphanage would be very simple, but there’s something making you stay. You have a sibling with problems - probably drugs, if the fact that you want to stay with them means anything – and judging by the charm stuck onto the side of your hand-me-down coat, it’s a girl.”

At this point, John noticed, the boy was turned away, huddled a little. His eyes were downcast, as if he expected him to scold him or yell at him. Instead, John’s eyes lit up. “Incredible,” he gasped. 

The boy in the black coat’s eyes widened, turning his head quickly towards John in surprise and causing his dark brown curls to bounce across his forehead. He crinkled his face up in some kind of absurdity. “What?”

“I said, it’s incredible.” He let out a timid smile. “Apart from what you said about my sister taking drugs, everything was right.”

The boy punched the muddy floor. “God damn it,” he sighed. “There’s always something.”

John pat him on the back, wanting to help this boy despite his scarily accurate predictions. “What are you on about? That was better than I’ve heard anyone interpret me, and believe me, quite a few people have tried.”

“I know,” he stated, his breath hitched as if it were a question he had to affirm. “Yes, I know I’m right. Of course; I only got one thing wrong.” He took a deep breath. “I’m above them all.”

There was an awkward silence between them. Not exactly the answer John had expected, but he’d have to work with it. After all, this boy was the only person he’d met. He held out his hand. “I’m John Watson. What’s your name?”

The curly-haired boy looked at the hand disgustedly. He held his hand up cautiously to slip it into the other boy’s and hesitated before taking it back to his side. “I know, obviously” he started, “and it’s Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nice to meet you, Sherlock.” He gave a grin, but the other boy looked away and sat silently.

How polite.

After a while, he spoke.

“Just in case you didn’t know, I don’t do friends.” 

Now John was weirded out. “Ah… ok. That’s fine.”

The two boys were silent for another while. What a strange boy. John found himself quite disturbed by Sherlock’s sudden declaration, but brushed it off, classing him off as an emo or a loner type. He would usually leave those types of people alone, but frankly there was no way to escape their conversation. If he were to use a half-assed excuse to leave, he knew from the boy’s unreal exploit of him that he’d see right through it.

“So, um,” he started, trying to break the silence. Sherlock interrupted him.

“You’re new.” The statement was asked like a question.

John gave a nod, slightly annoyed. “Why should it matter to you?”

The other boy cleared his throat, apathy and a little anger evident in his tone of voice. “John Watson, if you want what is best for you, you’ll pretend you never met me tonight. You will ignore me, get your own friends, and you will never let on about our meeting here.”

The short haired boy shouldn’t have been surprised by the sudden declination. “Why?”

Sherlock looked away, an air of mystery surrounding him. God, this boy was so edgy and frustrating. “It’s for the best and, quite frankly, you’re just like everyone else.”

John narrowed his eyes. “What did you just say?” He would allow people to say many things about him, but ‘just like everyone else’ wasn’t one of them. He didn’t do all of his extra studying for no reason.

The curly haired boy didn’t even look up. He was now fiddling with a leaf. “You bore me.”

John breathed a deep sigh. His anger wasn’t subsiding anytime soon and his willingness to leave was only building greater inside of him. There was absolutely no getting through to this boy; he could either go home and sleep or spend all night hating himself for trying to be friendly. “Fine, I’ll leave,” he spat.

The boy stood up definitively and turned away, physically feeling Sherlock staring into his back as he walked. After stepping a fair bit away, he heard the other boy’s voice call out behind him. “Wait!”

 

At this point, John just wanted to go home. “What the hell is it now?”

“You don’t know how to get home, do you?”

Oh.

Well, he didn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit it to this boy, of all people.

“I’ll show you the way,” Sherlock said, walking up and in front of the other boy. John was about to retaliate until he remembered that Sherlock was basically the only way out of the forest at this point. He reluctantly followed behind him, pissed yet enamoured by the attitude of this cruel yet kind boy.

Before John knew it, they were nearing the entrance. “Take a left and carry on straight down,” the boy told him.

“How the hell do you know my address?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I have my sources.” He turned the other way, passing the boy. “Goodbye, John.”

John stood there for a while, staring at the curly haired boy as he strolled down the other way. He swallowed his pride. “Sherlock?”

The other boy turned around.

“Thank you.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together and turned. If John hadn’t known better, he’d think he was supressing a smile.

How quirky.

After watching the other boy leave, he began his journey back. John felt his body grow weaker for every step he took down the hill. He was too tired to overthink this weirdo he met in the forest. Besides, his new school would start in less than 4 hours. He wondered if his parents would still be fighting. Would Harry still be drinking? Would he be able to act like an honour student after… what was it… a month and a half of staying awake for the best part of every night? Damn Sherlock. Only now did he realise how much sleep he’d lost.

He stumbled into the front door, which was still open as he had left it. The lights were off, darkness consuming the house. It felt lonelier than it had when he left it, he noted. Maybe if he went to sleep, he could pass his meeting with Sherlock off to himself as some weird fever dream.

John opened the door to his small bedroom and collapsed on his bed. He fell asleep almost instantly, but not before taking a glimpse out of his window at the black trees of the forest outlined by the rising sun.


End file.
